


I Found in You What Was Lost in Me

by Eden (Lost_And_Insane)



Series: Geraskier One-Shots [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Animal Death, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_And_Insane/pseuds/Eden
Summary: Geralt wanted to tell Jaskier to stop crying. That it was just a dead bird and that it didn’t matter. But he knew it did matter. It mattered to Jaskier. Geralt was harder than Jaskier would ever be; a merciless witcher that had never learned to be soft was nothing like the bard with an open heart. Who was Geralt to tell Jaskier to stop crying? That’s the way he was.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712341
Comments: 14
Kudos: 290





	I Found in You What Was Lost in Me

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by my favourite part in Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe. As I read it, I pictured Jaskier and Geralt, so here we are.
> 
> This is my first Witcher fic and I’m here to stay.

“You know, Geralt, another night wouldn’t hurt.”

Geralt just grumbled something in response, grabbing at Roach’s reins and gently spurring her along. She stubbornly pulled back, hooves planted firmly on the ground, and Jaskier snorted a laugh.

“See, even Roach agrees with me!” he said, sounding way too pleased with himself. “Good girl!”

The sun was setting, marking the end of the day. Most townspeople had already retreated into their homes, leaving Geralt and Jaskier alone in the middle of the street, Roach a few steps behind them; she was purposely ignoring the reins in Geralt’s hand, even if he gave it a light tug.

Jaskier stepped back to stand side-by-side with Roach. “Come on, Geralt, how can you deny this cute face?”

When Geralt turned, Jaskier had one hand pointing at Roach, while the other pointed at his own face. He was pouting slightly, complete with puppy-dog eyes that he knew Geralt hated.

This battle was already lost.

“ _Fine_ ,” Geralt sneered, turning back around towards the stables. Roach immediately walked with him, a proud trot in her step.

“Yes!” Jaskier cheered, clapping his hands together and bouncing on his feet. He lightly patted Roach. “I owe you, girl. I’ll give you so many apples in the morning, just you wait!”

Geralt could only roll his eyes.

As the stables came into sight, Geralt heard a noise, a group of men yelling across the street. Four of them, seemingly in their twenties, standing in front of a big tree and staring up at the branches—when Geralt followed their gaze he saw a little sparrow resting at the top. He immediately took note of the throwing knives one of the men was holding.

He’d known what was coming. In a motion that was entirely ungraceful, the man threw one of his knives upwards—it hit the bird straight-on, nearly splitting the thing in half. It landed on the ground with a loud _‘thud’_.

Jaskier gasped loudly. Before Geralt realized what was happening, Jaskier was halfway across the street.

“Hey, stop that!” Jaskier yelled. He all but pushed the four men aside as he positioned himself between them and the tree, arms spread wide in a protective stance. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Geralt dropped Roach’s reins and started heading over. The man had yet to lower his knives.

“What, are you offering to be our target instead?” he mocked.

Jaskier did not falter. He looked madder than Geralt had ever seen him. “Leave the birds alone!”

Another of the men spoke, “What are you planning on doing about it, you piece of shit?”

“I’m going to make you stop,” Jaskier responded. Geralt could tell Jaskier didn’t know what he was going to do next.

The men laughed, not in a kind way. Their loud voices echoed across the empty square. “ _You_? How?”

Geralt cleared his throat; the men quickly turned around, startled. “By kicking your skinny little asses all the way to Novigrad,” he sneered, hand on the hilt of his sword. The man looked like he was about to raise his knife. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The men were young, but not stupid—Geralt had no doubt in his mind that they recognized the witcher. It was written clear as day in their fearful expressions. Geralt wasn’t one to start a fight with humans, but he wouldn’t feel bad knocking out some egotistical bastards who went around throwing knives. Especially if his bard was the target.

One of the men looked like they were about to leap at him, but his friend was quick to elbow him in his side. “Let it go, man. It’s not worth it.”

With a final glare—and a well-aimed spit at Geralt’s boots—the four men departed, harshly bumping into Jaskier and mumbling obscenities on their way back into town. Geralt slowly let go of his sword as he watched them turn a corner and vanish from his sight.

When Geralt turned back to Jaskier, he was ready to start yelling at him for being so stupid and reckless, but he froze when his eyes landed on the bard. A few minutes ago, he’d been mad as hell. Now he was crouched next to the dead bird, tears rolling down his cheeks as his shoulders trembled.

Geralt swallowed his words.

There was an ache in Geralt’s heart as he watched the bard cry. He didn’t know what to do, so he just stood there and watched him. Seeing Jaskier without his smile and the usual glimmer in his eyes was odd, like something was terribly, terribly wrong with the world.

Geralt wanted to tell Jaskier to stop crying. That it was just a dead bird and that it didn’t matter. But he knew it did matter. It mattered to Jaskier. Geralt was harder than Jaskier would ever be; a merciless witcher that had never learned to be soft was nothing like the bard with an open heart. Who was Geralt to tell Jaskier to stop crying? That’s the way he was.

And then Jaskier finally stopped; he wiped the tears from his eyes. He took a deep breath and looked at Geralt. “Will you help me bury her?”

“Sure.”

They took Roach to the stables at last and asked the stable boy for a shovel, which they used to dig a hole underneath the big tree the bird had been resting in. Neither of them said a word as they buried the bird. Jaskier was crying again.

Geralt felt useless as he stood there, looking at the shovel in his hands—anything to avoid seeing Jaskier cry. The bard was kneeling in front of the makeshift grave, face buried in his hands. It felt like there was a wall between them, dividing them by their differences. Proving once more that they weren’t compatible.

And yet, Geralt quietly put the shovel down and closed the distance.

Jaskier looked up when Geralt gently touched his shoulder. The tears staining his cheeks reflected the weak light of the setting sun. He searched Geralt’s face, hesitating only a moment before reaching out and burying his face in Geralt’s chest.

They sat there for a long moment, kneeling in front of a bird’s grave, until the sun had vanished and Jaskier’s sobs had quieted down to mere sniffles. Geralt didn’t loosen his hold on Jaskier, even when he’d stopped trembling; only when the bard eventually moved back did Geralt let go.

Jaskier was studying Geralt’s face, a glimmer of _something_ in his eyes. Geralt didn’t know what he was looking for.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Sure.”

Geralt wondered what it was like, to be the kind of man that cried over the death of a bird. And it seemed to him that Jaskier’s face was a map of the world. A world without any darkness.

A world without darkness. How beautiful was that?


End file.
